


toss a coin to your witcher

by imposterhuman



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Witcher Fusion, Bard Tony Stark, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, First Meetings, M/M, Pre-Slash, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Witcher Bucky Barnes, tony stark is a little shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:34:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23696251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imposterhuman/pseuds/imposterhuman
Summary: Bucky stalked into the tavern, hands covered in the blood of his latest monster kill and silver eyes narrowed in adon’t fuck with meglare. The whole Witcher thing tended to get that message across pretty well, but the glare was just icing on the cake.The bar fell silent as he entered, all eyes falling on him. Were he poorer trained, more skittish, he might’ve flinched, but Bucky was far too used to the stares and disgust of humans and he learned long ago how to let it roll off of his back. Instead, he kept walking, moving towards a seat in the corner, where the shadows would hide him enough and he could drink in peace.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Tony Stark, James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark
Comments: 8
Kudos: 270
Collections: IronSoldier, Witcher





	toss a coin to your witcher

**Author's Note:**

> so i watched the witcher and now im completely obsessed so thats what this was born of
> 
> knowledge of the witcher isnt necessary to understand this, i play pretty fast and loose with the details anyway. all you need to know is that witchers are monster hunters and people dont like them because people are trash
> 
> enjoy :))

Bucky stalked into the tavern, hands covered in the blood of his latest monster kill and silver eyes narrowed in a  _ don’t fuck with me  _ glare. The whole Witcher thing tended to get that message across pretty well, but the glare was just icing on the cake. 

The bar fell silent as he entered, all eyes falling on him. Were he poorer trained, more skittish, he might’ve flinched, but Bucky was far too used to the stares and disgust of humans and he learned long ago how to let it roll off of his back. Instead, he kept walking, moving towards a seat in the corner, where the shadows would hide him enough and he could drink in peace. 

Bucky sat, and slowly, the bar returned to its usual din, but he could still feel eyes on him as he gestured for the barmaid to bring him an ale. She set it down in front of him with minimal shaking, but stayed as far away from him as the table allowed. 

He didn’t blame her. His appearance could be a little…  _ off putting _ . 

Like all Witchers, Bucky’s eyes glowed an inhuman silver, even in the dim light of the bar. His canines were just a tad too sharp, his fingernails just a little too clawlike, his dark hair  _ definitely  _ too matted with blood to pass for human. The wolf medallion on his chest laid prominent against his black armor, studded with silver spikes for extra protection. Not to mention his size; he easily towered over half of the men in the room. All in all, he knew he didn’t paint a very reassuring picture.

The massive sword probably didn’t help, either.

It didn’t matter. He was there to drink and have a roof over his head for a little while, and then he’d be back on the road again. He didn’t care what these humans thought of him in the meantime. Sure, a little less fear would’ve been nice, but Bucky was a Witcher. He was used to things not working out in altogether nice ways. 

So Bucky sat and drank his ale in silence, as was his routine. That much was comforting, at least, even if the ale tasted like shit.

He almost put his head down on the table when he heard the tuning of a lute start up a few tables away. Almost every bar he’d been in had had a visiting bard, a traveler looking for fortune and fame with their subpar lute skills and poor lyricism. After the last one, who’d sang for three hours straight about farming, Bucky was pretty much done with bards. 

He resigned himself to hearing poor music for the rest of the night; after all, it wasn’t like he was going to stand up and complain. At least the ale here wasn’t as watered-down as he’d expected. Maybe he could get drunk enough to dull his hearing. He doubted it, but it was worth a try. 

The opening notes were more in tune than Bucky had expected, and the crowd quieted as the bard began to sing, faster than he had ever heard a bar full of drunks fall silent. He understood why, though: there was something compelling about that soft singing, something that had even Bucky, with all of his Witcher stoicism, wanting to hear more. 

The mass of people shifted a little bit, allowing Bucky a good look at the bard. He looked young, with a floppy mass of brown curls falling over his forehead. His whiskey eyes were glinting with intelligence, visible even from a distance, as he scanned the crowd strategically. Bucky watched him sidle up to a blushing woman, who passed him a coin almost immediately that he pocketed without pausing his singing, already moving onto his next target. 

Bucky could admire the bard for that; he knew he didn’t have the charm to get people to part with their coin. That was why he stuck to killing monsters. Same result, if bloodier.

The bard kept singing, about monsters and maidens and love, but Bucky turned his attention elsewhere. He had no time for little frivolities like songs. He ran through his to do list in his head: he had to sharpen his swords, and his armor could do with a repair. Not to mention he needed to stock up on supplies before he started on the Path again. It would cost more coin than he technically had at the moment, but there were always more monsters to be slain. Even a drowner head could fetch him a decent price, if he was lucky.

Money and monsters, that was his life. Bucky was fine with it, really. He was a Witcher; he didn’t need anything more.

Distantly, he heard the song peter out, but he paid it no mind. He was lost in thought as it was, and it wasn’t like what the bard was doing affected him at all.

Of course, he had to be wrong about that.

“So, what did you think?” the bard’s voice came out of nowhere as he swung into view, coming towards Bucky with an alarming grin. “You’re the only one who hasn’t voiced his opinion, so I want to know: how did I do? Come on, a review in three words or less.”

Shocked, Bucky held up three fingers, struck with the odd urge to indulge the bard. It wasn’t often that a human spoke to him first, and definitely not with a smile that wide. “They don’t exist,” he ticked off, going back to his ale. He was telling the truth; the monsters about which the bard sang were wholly made up, though the bits he’d heard had sounded convincing enough.

“Well, damn,” the bard whistled. “So much for verisimilitude. I’m Tony, by the way. And from the eyes, medallion, and truly intimidating armor-- really, that stuff is amazingly scary, I see why you wear it-- you’re a Witcher. Bucky Barnes of Brooklyn, right? I mean, not a great name for a big bad Witcher, really,  _ far  _ too much alliteration, but--”

“Do you ever stop talking?” Bucky cut in, his indulgence quickly running out. Something about the bard was off, though. For all he spoke of intimidation, he didn’t smell afraid, not even a little bit.

“You would not be the first to wonder,” Tony said, plopping down into the seat across from him with a mischievous grin. “Alas, the answer is no. And why would I, when I have so much to say?”

“Because none of it is worth saying?” Bucky shot back with vicious glee. If this bard wasn’t afraid of him, he could  _ make  _ him afraid. 

(Bucky ignored the part of himself that wanted to cling to this lack of fear, this rare acceptance from a random bard. Emotions like these would make him soft, and soft Witchers got killed. There were few places for anything but monsters and coin in his world, and there was  _ definitely  _ no place for a fearless bard who smelled like sunshine and sandalwood.)

Tony barked out a laugh. “I’ve heard that one before, but never with such a murderous air,” he said almost gleefully. “You really have to teach me how you sound so gruff and angry all the time. It’s  _ adorable _ .”

Bucky blinked at him in shock. No one had ever called him adorable before. Butcher, mutant,  _ monster _ , he’d heard all the names. And he  _ deserved  _ all the names that the people pelted him with like stones. He wasn’t sure what this bard was trying to pull, but he didn’t have to sit here and take it. 

With a loud scraping noise, Bucky pushed his seat back and stood up. He adjusted his sword, tossed a coin on the table to cover his ale, and turned to leave the tavern. He didn’t stop walking, even as he heard Tony scrambling to follow him.

“Wait, wait!” Tony called, stumbling out the door on his heels. “I think we got off on the wrong foot. I’m Tony Stark, and I’m going to be your bard.”

“Don’t need one,” Bucky brushed him off.

“You do, actually,” Tony ran in front of him, walking backwards when it was clear that Bucky wasn’t going to stop moving. His arms were flailing as he spoke. It was oddly endearing. “Because, no offense, your reputation is shit. Do you want people to keep throwing rocks at you? I can help, trust me! Not to brag, but I’m quite good at influencing people.”

“Sounds like a brag,” said Bucky, reaching his horse. He patted her neck softly, his one companion, and swung onto her back, planning to leave the annoying bard in the dust. He’d heard about a contract for a devil up in the fields, and while devils weren’t real, coin definitely was. 

He urged his horse on with a gentle kick that left the bard jogging to keep up. 

“They never mentioned you were a  _ dick _ ,” Tony panted, lute case bouncing on his back. “Oh, wait, yes they did. And that’s why you need me! Because I could totally spin this into something heroic--  _ stop speeding up! _ ”

Bucky couldn’t believe that the man was practically running besides his horse and  _ still  _ trying to give a sales pitch. He had to admire the bard’s tenacity, that was for sure. 

“Get lost, bard,” he called over his shoulder, making to go faster and leave Tony behind once and for all. But his horse, the horrible traitor, slowed down to a walk, no matter how many times he tapped her flanks. “Damn it.”

Tony pulled up alongside them, smiling like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. “Thanks, darling,” he stage-whispered to Bucky’s horse, passing her a sugar cube from a pocket in his doublet. “Anyway, as I was saying, I think you should let me accompany you on this contract. Call it a trial run; I will record your heroism for posterity, but quietly, and in the least irritating manner I can manage. Deal?”

Bucky snorted in disbelief despite himself. “I doubt you’ve been silent a day in your life,” he said, and cursed in his head immediately. His tone, while not encouraging, had made it sound like he was considering the bard’s crazy idea. And he wasn’t, not at all.

Except, maybe he was. A little bit.

(So sue him, he was tired of having things thrown at him in every town he visited. He was tired of fighting monsters, nearly  _ dying _ most times, only to be denied a bed and a warm meal. And it wasn’t like the bard could make things worse.

And maybe, just maybe, Bucky wanted to be around someone who, no matter what Bucky said, still smelled like sunshine and sandalwood. There was no acrid fear in Tony’s scent, not even a hint of it, where everyone else he’d met was practically drenched in the sickly sweet smell. It was a refreshing change.)

“One contract,” Bucky growled, putting on his best glare. “That’s it.”

Tony’s grin rivaled the sun. “Trust me, you won’t regret it,” he promised. “I will be naught but a silent sidekick.”

Bucky was regretting it already.

\---

Tony had decidedly  _ not  _ been a silent sidekick, but it had all worked out, somehow. Bucky wasn’t sure  _ how _ , considering he was pretty sure that Tony had insulted the elves, their mothers, and even their grandmothers in Elder (his own Elder was a little rusty, at least when it came to insults), but they were both alive and largely unharmed. Bucky counted it as a win.

Next to him, Tony was strumming his new lute, clearly already composing a song about the whole ordeal. 

“ _ When a humble bard graced a ridealong with Bucky of Brooklyn, along came this song _ ,” he sang, fingers dancing up the neck of his instrument. “No, that’s not right at all.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Humble?” he asked.

“Artistic license,” Tony scowled. “It’s allowed. I’m calling it a ridealong, aren’t I, even though you made me walk the whole way?”

“Get your own horse, then you can ride,” said Bucky, urging his horse to go a little faster. Maybe he could outrun the sound of Tony’s lute. Tony just strummed louder. Bucky was fairly certain it was on purpose. 

Tony’s warbling voice followed him. “ _ When the devil’s horns minced our tender meat, and so cried the Witcher, he can’t be bleat! _ ”

Bucky snorted despite himself. “That’s terrible,” he said with finality. Against his will, his horse stopped, allowing Tony to catch up. “Also, that’s not how it happened. Where’s your newfound respect?”

Tony looked at him, whiskey eyes piercing. Bucky had no idea what he saw, only that it satisfied him, somehow. “Respect,” Tony said, tongue curling around the words. “Doesn’t make history.”

When he kept walking forwards, clearly with no destination in mind, Bucky followed. He didn't know why.

“ _ Toss a coin to your Witcher _ ,” sang Tony, not looking back, just trusting that Bucky was behind him. “ _ Oh, valley of plenty. Oh, valley of plenty _ .”

In his head, Bucky cursed. The stupid song was already getting stuck in his head.

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos make me happy :))
> 
> come talk to me on tumblr [@imposter-human](https://imposter-human.tumblr.com/)


End file.
